clap your hands
by Adreus
Summary: post-120 — Ryoga's made his decision, but he can't find Yuma anywhere. —Ryoga, Kaito. Tsukumo Haru.


**Notes:** Post-120. Yuma is, of course, in Astral World.

* * *

_clap your hands_

* * *

He doesn't say good-bye.

He doesn't say good-bye, doesn't leave a letter or a voicemail, doesn't say anything, because—because, well, he can't. Literally, he can't, because when he's decided on his path in the face of the moonless night, when he's made his choice, he thinks it only fair to speak to Yuma before he leaves—but he can't find him. Can't find him, can't reach him, calls to no answer and shouts not to be heard, and dammit, Yuma, of all the times not to pick up immediately, why choose now? He can feel his heart grow heavier, shakier; he knows that Astral's gone and Yuma's upset, knows that he's been a terrible friend in the aftermath, but he's never known Yuma to be like this, never known Yuma to ignore him so thoroughly, even when Ryoga's deserved it and more, and now, of all times—

He chokes back a sob, redials the number, pulls on his jacket and heads to Yuma's house. Calls him again and again the entire way, swears under his breath and then louder and louder, climbs the side of the Tsukumo household because it's too late to go to the door and anyway he doesn't want to bother with that hassle, and he peers inside the attic, squints with his hands pressed against the glass — but there's no one there.

He looks to his left, looks to his right, curses, and breaks in. Creeps around the room, feeling like he's intruding—and, well, of course he is, but that's not what he _meant_, he's intruding here because he's—he's Nasch, isn't he, and this is Yuma's room and by extension Astral's room, because Astral and Yuma are one and the same, aren't they, and—and, well, Nasch is their enemy, Nasch is a Barian, Nasch is _the_ Barian, and there is no way that he is welcome here.

There's something building up in the pit of his stomach now, to match the otherworldly cold that's settled just over his heart and in his throat, and he's shivering and he's going to be sick and he needs—he needs to find Yuma, he needs to tell him he loves him and this isn't Yuma's fault and that Ryoga's sorry for being a piece of shit, thanks for dealing with him—but where's Yuma, where's Yuma, why can't he find him or think clearly enough to figure out where else to look?

His head is spinning, dizzy with new memories, old memories, memories once old and now new, and his vision swims as he stands there in Yuma's empty room clutching the wall to keep himself standing, and here it's silent and stuffy and nauseating, _I don't belong here, I don't belong here, shut up, shut up, how can I just leave, how can I do that to him—_

—darkness, silence, calm—

—His eyes snap open.

The first thing he notices is that he was asleep. The second is that he's on a bed. The third…

"Yuma…?"

is nowhere to be found, and Ryoga is in _his_ bed, staring at the ceiling and still dressed in the clothing from the day before and sweating for the heat. He sits, and his head aches for how fast he did it and just aches in general, begs him for releases into the stars but Ryoga fights it, he can't, he won't, not yet, he will, just—wait, it needs to wait, he needs to—but he can't remember what he needs to do, can't remember why—

There's a knock at the door and Ryoga jolts.

"Awake?" comes the voice of the woman that sticks her head into the room, and Ryoga doesn't know who he expected, but he doesn't let down his guard at the sight of Yuma's grandmother, almost feels like she can see right through him, see what he's done, see what he will do, but she smiles at him and it burns him and he asks, meekly, "How did I…"

"No questions before breakfast," she chides, and pushes the door wide open, and there is no room for arguing. He swallows, nods, follows her; sees Yuma's home without Yuma in it and tires to ask "Where…" before he's shushed again, pushed hastily into the bathroom with a brand new pink toothbrush—and he brushes his teeth in Yuma's bathroom with Yuma's toothpaste and what would be Yuma's toothbrush and he stares into his reflection and the cosmic joke that is his existence.

"Good morning," Yuma's grandmother greets him again when he comes down for breakfast, and this is unreal, this is a dream, but he follows her orders and sits at Yuma's table while Yuma isn't there, and at her glare he eats, eats what should be Yuma's dinner with Yuma's family in what is probably Yuma's chair, _where are you, where are you, why can't I reach you_, and there's no way this food is going to stay down, not with his splitting in ten different directions and his stomach churning with guilt, not when he probably doesn't need food to begin with, not when, not when—

"He does this, you know," she speaks slowly, and Ryoga looks up suddenly, eyes wide and body shaking, and her brow is furrowed. "Disappears for days, always forgets to leave a message. But… aren't you usually with him?" And she eyes him curiously, she can see him, she can see through him, she knows, she _knows_—

"Thank you for the meal," says Ryoga, and doesn't wait for her reply, doesn't pull out his chair enough and runs to the door but hits his leg on the table and swears, but he keeps running, running outside, running to Heartland Tower, why didn't he think of it before, what's _wrong_ with him (what's _right_ with him)?

He pulls out his gazer and he scrolls through his contacts for a number he's only dialed a few times, but it's still in his speed dial because it _has_ to be, a sour taste in his mouth left by Tenjo Kaito.

It's not that he doesn't ever contact Kaito, just that it's usually more convenient to just get Yuma, but there's that word again, _usually_, and usually he's not fighting the Barian memories that want him to take his true form, usually he's not racing to find someone he can speak or apologize to, usually he doesn't _apologize_, usually—

—usually, Kaito doesn't pick up.

"Ryoga?" comes the sound, and it's strange to hear it, like seeing a set of letters together that he forgot formed a word, _Ryoga_, not Shark or Oniisama or Nasch or Ou, just Ryoga, plain and blunt and fact just as everything else spoken in Kaito's voice.

"Kaito!" he shouts and he's breathless, nearly drops the gazer when he comes to a screeching stop and he must look terrible, a mess of uncombed hair and tired, wild eyes and unsure expressions to contrast with Kaito's mild confusion, a furrowed brow and kept appearance against the night.

The night?

"Where are you?" Ryoga blurts out, then shakes his head, because, no, that's not important. "Where's Yuma?"

"Antarctica."

"...What?"

Kaito's brow creases further. "Are you… okay? Is your sister alright?"

"She's fine," says Ryoga, and his heart is beating in his ears and up his throat and his eyes won't stop _welling_, and why is it Kaito, why is it Kaito, where's _Yuma_, and then he realizes what he said, how he answered almost robotically, dismissively, and he winces because, "No, wait. No, she's not. I'm—we're—"

He can feel himself being torn at the seams, feel his body coming undone, feel the flood of memories pushing him and pulling him and there are the tears and why can't he _speak_?

"Shark?"

That breaks him.

"I want…" he says, "I want… to be with you. I want to fight alongside you. But I can't…"

—a flash of light, a transformation, a shout and a gasp for air that he doesn't need—

"Ryoga!"

"...fight myself."

_Please tell Yuma I'm sorry._


End file.
